"Them Boston people that come over to our public meetin' last Sunday," he
began, "they was dretful scairt 'bout what would become o' the human race if
it should all turn Shakers. 'I guess you need n't worry,' I says; 'it'll take
consid'able of a spell to convert all you city folks,' I says, 'an' after all,
what if the world should come to an end?' I says. 'If half we hear is true
'bout the way folks carry on in New York and Chicago, it's 'bout time it
stopped,' I says, 'an' I guess the Lord could do a consid'able better job on a
second one,' I says, 'after findin' out the weak places in this.' They can't
stand givin' up their possessions, the world's folks; that's the principal
trouble with 'em! If you don't have nothin' to give up, like some o' the
tramps that happen along here and convince the Elder they're jest bustin' with
the fear o' God, why, o' course 't ain't no trick at all to be a Believer."
"Did you have much to give up, Brother Ansel?" Susanna asked. "'Bout's much as
any sinner ever had that jined this Community," replied Ansel, complacently.
"The list o' what I consecrated to this Society when I was gathered in was:
One horse, one wagon, one two-year-old heifer, one axe, one saddle, one
padlock, one bed and bedding, four turkeys, eleven hens, one pair o' plough-
irons, two chains, and eleven dollars in cash.
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